


Thirty-One Flavors

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Coma, Established Relationship, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has yet another serious head injury and is in a coma thanks to distracting a ghost to save Dean. As he recovers, Sam keeps waking up out of the coma as each of the different Sams he’s been over the past few years. Dean is there at his side to talk to each and every one of the Sams, like it or not, all the time wondering how he can ever follow through on the promises he makes to all of them and if he’ll ever get to talk to his Sam again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2015 wincest_bigbang. Also for the fabulism spot on my spnspiration bingo card. Definition of fabulism - A form of magic realism in which fantastical elements are placed into an everyday setting. We hear from many Sam’s in this story, Soulless-Sam, Hell-Sam, Hallucifer-Sam, Sam who watched as Gadreel took over, Sam who survived Demon!Dean, and Sam-just-plain-Sam. I know there are of course, many other Sams, but these were the ones that wanted to speak up in this story. Thank you to my wonderful beta, amypond45, thanks for helping wrangle all of my Sam’s/Sams into submission. Big thanks to electriclita who made the fabulous art that goes along with the story, thanks for finding all my Sams and incorporating them!

The crushing sameness of hospital rooms, one indistinguishable from the next is the thing that always gets to him. But really, the details of what’s in the room aren’t important, only the person in the bed is. That’s always been the way it is for him, all his focus on the seemingly empty shell lying there. Waiting for him to re-inhabit the body again, for his brother to return to himself. He’s been here too many times. Too many times for both of them. Dean forces his eyes away from Sam’s slack face and scrubs his cheeks with his hands, trying to stay awake a little longer. He needs to be here and alert, just in case.

The excruciating silence in the spare hospital room is suddenly broken. 

“Ah, finally I get to run this sack of meat again. It’s not much fun getting kicked into the background. Oh you’re here. Of course you are, I don’t know why I’m surprised, not like you could possibly do anything else than watch Sammy’s ass,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders like he’s putting on his fed suit jacket. 

Dean is beyond happy to hear his brother’s voice after days of waiting here at his bedside. Just barely tolerating the nurse’s encouragement and platitudes without committing murder or mayhem as he truly wanted to. But it was, of course, too much to hope for that Sam would be just-plain-Sam after this latest catastrophic injury. He can tell immediately that somehow it’s that soul-less dick speaking now. The _how_ of that happening is not something he can work out quickly, but the look on the jerk’s face requires a response.

“Nice to see you too, asshole,” Dean says, because that’s what the dude deserves after what he did to Bobby. 

“Hey, did you know that Sam had to kill me to get control back? Guess it didn’t take or something since I’m back.”

Dean scowls at the idea of this soul-less version of his brother taking over permanently. “Don’t get comfy. You’re not back, Sam’s just having some issues coming out of this coma.”

“What, you think I’m temporary or something, Dean?” the Sam who is soulless taunts.

“Yeah, you’re not him, you’re not my brother,” Dean says dismissively.

“Actually I kinda am. I mean, I’m not ever really gone. I’m just what Sam is without a soul.”

“Sure, whatever. Don’t remind me.”

“He doesn’t need it, you know.”

“Sam doesn’t need what?”

“His soul. I got along just fine without it.”

“I wouldn’t call it just fine. You were a psycho killer.”

“And you _weren’t_ , as a demon? C’mon Dean, we’ve both been there. And done that, am I right?

Besides, I had a reason for every piece of collateral damage.”

“Oh yeah, how could I forget. You’re all about the job, right?” Dean sneers.

“Yeah, that’s how it should be. Getting shit done.”

“Not according to Sam, it’s not.”

“Eh, you never listen to him anyway.” Soulless Sam flaps a hand at him dismissively.

“Says who?”

“Says Sam. He’s convinced himself you don’t ever listen to what he wants, you’re so damn focused on saving him all the time.” 

“That’s my job. Always has been.”

“Yeah, oh man how he loves that! Being just a job to you. Damn! He’s your brother, you asshole. He loves you, for some fucking reason I could never figure out. And believe me, I tried.”

“Like I’m gonna believe you.”

“Whatever dude, it’s your loss. You're missing out. He’d give anything just to be on an equal  footing with you again.” Sam’s head flops back against the flat hospital pillow, his hair fanning out in a halo of shiny brown strands.  Dean stands and puts his hands on Sam’s cheeks, looking down at his brother’s face. 

“You’re not just my job, I hope you don’t really think that,” Dean says, hoping that Sam can hear him somehow. The nurse had said to keep talking, that sometimes coma patients hear things while they’re still under.  He considers again how it was that some part of his brother just started randomly speaking like that, as if he was another being residing inside Sam’s complicated (and frequently injured) brain.  Random and miraculous things happen to them, pretty much all the time. They live their lives surrounded by magic, or some shit like that. Sam would have an idea about it, but he’s got to wake up to actually tell him. 

Dean’s hands move down Sam’s neck, slowly, lingering over the pulse, relishing the warmth of the familiar skin. A faded hickey is under one of his thumbs and he presses into it gently, remembering that night, a little less than a week ago. Sam coming unglued and writhing in pleasure underneath him.  “Please, Sammy, you gotta wake up. Help me figure this out,” Dean begs, stroking both of his brother’s shoulders, squeezing them both tightly.

Sam’s entire body shivers in response to Dean’s touch. A violent, earthquake level shiver that doesn’t look right in this hospital bed.  His eyes fly open and look around the room in a panic.  In a small, very tired voice that Dean can barely hear, Sam says, “Just get it over with, I can’t take anymore.”

Dean gulps to steady himself, because this isn’t Sam, he never sounds this defeated, well he hasn’t since that stay in the psych ward that they’ve both tried to forget.  Dean asks, “Can’t take what, Sammy?”

Sam flinches away from him, eyes wide with terror.

Dean’s stomach drops all the way down to the hospital lobby. “So who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Sam stares at him for a long moment, like he’s swimming through murky jello to come around to answer. “I’m the Sam who was in Hell, the one who was in the Cage,” he finally says in a low murmur.

“Why are you someone separate?” Dean asks, knowing that this version of his brother will only know about pain and terror and not much else. He also knows that there being more than one version of his brother inside of Sam is something that is beyond worrisome, and he thus avoids thinking about it for now. 

“I don’t know. Probably Sam had to make me up to take over when he has to deal with remembering Hell.”

“How often are you around?”

“He’s been letting me take over a lot lately. Especially since you became a demon.”

“Why?”

“Uh…you probably don’t want to know.  I shouldn’t tell you, he wouldn’t want me to,” Sam whispers, looking in all the corners in quick succession like he’s tracking something that’s about to attack.

“I do. I want you to. Tell me, please.”

“Fine, whatever. Torture, Dean, duh. He was torturing to find information to find you. He knew he was going too far, so he used me to do it. I’m the one with the most experience, learned from the masters, Lucifer and Michael. And it brought up all the memories of being tortured in Hell. Get it?”

“I don’t believe it, that he’d go that far. Just to find out where I went, he wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t know him very well then. He made a conscious choice to take on the memories of Hell just to get to you when you were dealing with Cas opening Purgatory.” 

“He did?”

Sam laughs, a bitter, broken sound that hurts Dean’s ears. “Of course he wouldn’t have told you about it. Yeah, I told him to just stay in his good memories, not go back out into the real world. But he said, ‘you know me, you know why. I’m not leaving my brother out there.’”

“He really said that?” Dean asks, struck with a hollow feeling in his gut, that Sam had never told him about this, and that he’d never thought to ask.

“Yeah, and that was all she wrote, stuck a knife in my belly and I was gone, until just recently.  He was dealing with the Hell memories all on his own somehow. I don’t know how he managed, he’s a lot stronger than I thought he was.”

“You’re not kidding, he always surprises me with that. He’s a whole lot stronger than I am.”

Sam barks that broken laugh again, and it sounds even worse this time. “He’d never believe you just said that, not in a million years.”

“What? He doesn’t think I believe in him? That he’s the strongest person I’ve ever known?”

“Nope, he’s got himself convinced that he’s just a burden to you, and that you don’t think he can deal with making his own decisions or running his own life.”

“That’s so messed up.”

“No kidding.”

“It’s all wrong. He’s got it all backwards.”

HellSam laughs, with real bitterness that he seems to chew on and relish. “Riiight, you keep telling yourself that, Dean. Well, you gotta talk to him or something. He doesn’t think you trust him.”

“I trust him with my life.”

“But do you trust him with his?”

“Of course I do.”

“Dean, I know you’re not this stupid, c’mon. Recent events wouldn’t exactly jive with that, if you’re honest with yourself.

“But I do trust him with my life, his life, pretty much everything. Of course I do.”

“Don’t tell me dude. Tell _him_.”

Dean starts to agree, to swear that he will, of course he will, as soon as the real Sam is there to talk to, but Sam’s body goes limp and appears to be uninhabited, eerily empty once again. Dean is out of his chair and shaking Sam’s shoulders before he knows he’s moved. His hands are cupping Sam’s face and then he’s pulling up one of Sam’s near-translucent eyelids to see if anyone is still home. The pupil dilates normally, so Dean lets the eyelid go gently. Still holding Sam’s face, he whispers a close-to-silent plea to whichever power happens to be eavesdropping, “Please, he’s had enough, he’s done enough, please just let him be okay, let him come back to me in one piece.”

Sam’s body seems to gain weight and presence as his eyes focus on Dean’s face hovering above him. He inhales deeply and then grimaces. “Oh God, not another one of these! Why do you keep doing this to me?”

“Which one are you?” Dean asks with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He’s just realized that the fact that there are apparently more than a few versions of his brother inside of Sam is something that is beyond worrisome if it’s not happening because of magic. But he’s not sure what to do, and he needs to keep Sam awake and talking, no matter which Sam it happens to be.

Sam rolls his eyes so far up in his head Dean thinks he’s passing out on him again. But then he hears the sarcastic laughter coming from Sam under his breath. “Uh, Lucifer, your Dean imitation never works. C’mon, give it up already. I told you a million times ,you never get his smell quite right.”

Dean’s hands tighten on Sam’s face. “Sammy, it’s me.”

Sam shakes his head roughly, dislodging Dean’s grip. “Oh shut up with the Sammys. It just makes you sound desperate. Besides, it’s not gonna work this time”.

“Stone number one, remember?” Dean says.

Sam makes an unbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “Ah, that’s such a load of bullshit. Dean never meant that crap anyway.”

Dean straightens up to his whole height, hit by sudden anger at being challenged. “What the hell? Of course I did.”

“Sure, like I’m supposed to believe that when the first thing he did after telling me that was lie to me,” Sam challenges again.

“What are you even talking about?” Dean asks, shaking his head in confusion.

“Think about it. What was the first big thing that happened, after he made his little ‘stone number one speech’?” Sam asks in response.

Dean searches back through his memories of that awful time. “The Leviathan attacked us when we got back to Bobby’s yard.”

“No, after the hospital, when Sam was off trying to help his friend who happened to be a kitsune.”

“Oh,” Dean says in a small voice that trails off to nothing, remembering with all too much clarity.

“Yeah—oh—Amy Pond—you remember her? And how you lied to Sam’s face about killing her. It made him have to question everything, reality, what was true, what else you were lying about, if he could trust you, or trust himself. And all that when he was trying to not let you know how bad the hallucinations were getting.”

“That wasn’t a good call on my part, lying to him about it. I just didn’t want to upset him so soon after he had that breakdown. And then it was too late to fess up.”

“Do you know how hard that was for him? To come back to you? And you never really apologized, just assumed he’d take his place in the passenger seat again.” 

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Dean, be a human, talk to him for once. Tell him why you did what you did. You know he’d understand, he’s way too forgiving for his own good.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean mumbles into his chest.

Sam grabs at his hand and laces their fingers together. “Listen to him when he tells you this stuff, Dean. It takes a lot for him to even say something to you about these things. So when he does, it’s really important to him.”

Dean squeezes Sam’s hand, thankful for the advice. “I will, I swear I will,” he says, staring into his brother’s eyes that have that vacant look that means another hallucination is coming on quick.

“You better. Otherwise, you might get stuck with one of _us_ for a brother and I’m pretty sure you don’t want that,” Sam says, with a sad, slow shake of his head. “This wasn’t some coincidence, Dean. It has to do with the case you were working.” And this time, his eyes do roll up from the pain of the sudden movement, and his hand goes limp, releasing Dean’s. Just like that, Dean is alone again, waiting to see who will show up next in this parade of the many flavors of Sam. If this is some magic deal, having to do with their most recent case, well, it sucks, and he doesn’t like it. He hopes that’s all it is, and not some permanent multiple-personality disorder thing, because how in the hell are they supposed to deal with that?

He pulls his chair a little closer and winds his hand through the tangle of cords and the bed rail to reach for Sam’s hand again. He opens the closed fist up and traces his finger over the still-jagged scar on Sam’s palm, remembers stitching it up, Sam’s lip trembling with the pain, his eyes filled with tears. Bobby had helped distract him then, and Dean wishes with all his heart that Bobby was here now. He’d know what to do. Or he’d at least help Dean hold his shit together to get Sam through this. But it’s only them now, like it’s been for a while now. He traces all of the fingers of Sam’s hand and then slots their hands together, forefinger instinctively reaching for Sam’s pulse point on his wrist. “Need you, Sammy, need you to come back to me.”

Sam’s hand tightens into a hard claw as his body convulses, he groans with the pain of moving his head too suddenly. Dean gasps with the pain of Sam’s crushing grip. Sam hears the noise and his eyes jump to Dean’s face and he lets go of Dean’s hand like it’s on fire. “Oh shit, what’s this, another nightmare? Am I ever going to stop dreaming you?”

“You’re not dreaming me, Sammy, I’m really here,” Dean says, trying to be patient, but being called a nightmare is kind of rough.

Sam’s eyes go wide as he searches Dean’s face. “No you’re not, you can’t be. You’re dead.”

“I’m sitting right here in front of you, dude. This is me pinching your arm. Does it hurt in your dreams?” Dean pinches Sam on the back of his wrist, hard.

Sam yanks his hand away from Dean’s fingers. “Ow! You fucker.”

“Believe me now?”

Sam turns away, pressing the side of his face into the pillow. “Yeah, whatever. Doesn’t matter. When I wake up for real, you’ll still be dead and gone,” Sam mumbles into the pillow.

Dean waits for a long moment, wondering if Sam’s passing out again or if this is another personality or whatever he’s talking to. He decides he might as well ask, just to be clear. “Who are you anyway?”

“I’m the Sam who tried to live without you when you died killing Dick Roman,” Sam says in a sad, empty voice that sounds so unlike Sam it makes Dean want to scream.

“Uh huh, so why are you separate?”

“Oh right, he’s never told you this. I probably shouldn’t…” Sam’s voice trails off and he slowly turns to look at Dean.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up at the hesitation, he marshalls his face into the pleading one that usually works on Sam. He knows it’s his own lame version of Sam’s unbeatable puppy dog eyes. “Just between you and me,” he cajoles.

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean’s antics, almost smiles. “I’m the one that kept him alive long enough until he met Amelia, and then she took over from me. But let me tell you, it was a close one.”

“A close one?” Dean asks, a cold, spiky ball of fear beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, he didn’t just hit a dog like he told you, there was a lot more going on that night.”

Dean feels the ball of fear release all it’s spikes at once, they shoot through his body, causing him to flinch. “Like what exactly?” 

“He was trying to drive off a cliff,” Sam answers, looking at Dean with an eerie calmness, like he knows what Dean’s response will be before he even says anything.

Dean shakes his head, not wanting to accept this Sam’s words. “Doesn’t sound like my Sam to me.”

“Your Sam? That’s cute, he’d like that. Anyway, he was pretty far gone by then, it’d been a couple months, you wouldn’t have recognized him. He really fell apart when you died so suddenly like that. And with Bobby, Cas and Kevin gone too, well he didn’t have anyone to turn to. All he had was the car.”

Dean lets all of the words and their meanings sink in for a long moment, the fear is all through his body now, a thorough chill at the thought of how close he came to losing Sam for good. “Why didn’t he ever tell me?”

“He was embarrassed and guilty. Mostly though, he didn’t think it would change anything, and he was pretty sure you’d think less of him if you knew what he’d almost done. I think he figured you assuming he had a nice year off with Amelia was better than you knowing the truth.”

“I had no idea. I guess I was pretty set on that assumption and being mad about it.”

“Would you have done anything differently?” Sam challenges.

“Sure, of course. I’d have forgiven him right away for leaving me to rot in Purgatory.”

“He really thought you were dead, Dean.”

“I get that now. How did he do it?”

“Do what?”

“Take all the crap I said to him about abandoning me? It was like a whole year of me doing that.”

“He felt he deserved it all, and more. You telling him that stuff was nothing new, believe me. He already had that song and dance going in his head before you ever said word one.”

“God, he must think I’m a real jerk.”

“Yeah, sometimes, but it doesn’t ever stop him.”

“Stop him from what?”

“Loving you, you jerk. You’re damn lucky to have someone like him, you know? Somebody that loves you unconditionally and has such a capacity to forgive.”

“I know I am. And I know I don’t deserve it.”

“He wouldn’t agree about you not deserving it. Like, at all. What he knows about your self-esteem issues could fill several volumes. But what he doesn’t know, is if you feel the same way back towards him.”

“He doesn’t? Of course I do. How can he not know that after all this time?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Dean, have you ever come out and said it out loud? That you love him and you’re thankful that he loves you? Maybe it wouldn’t do anything, but it sure couldn’t hurt him to hear it said out loud one damn time.”

Dean swallows nervously and shifts in his chair, uncomfortable with hearing his brother’s voice saying the ‘l’ word that they rarely use with each other. He looks over at this version of Sam, too tight, angry, needing some kind of answer. “All of you are giving me a big to-do list here.”

“Oh, poor you. Well, seems like you’ve got time to figure it all out, why not use it? He’s worth it to you, right?” Sam challenges.

“You have to ask that? Of course he’s worth it. He’s worth everything to me.”

“Just make sure he knows that,” Sam says with satisfaction, he smiles at Dean, that smile Dean’s seen since their childhood. The one that tells Dean he’s actually satisfied the kid for once, at least for now. He’s about to say something about wishing Sam smiled more when his brother's beautiful face turns into a mask of pain, a small noise escapes Sam’s tight lips and then his body is vacant. Nobody home.  Dean shivers with a sudden rush of fear that Sam’s dead or something. He reaches out and touches the side of Sam’s neck, sliding his fingers delicately along the warm skin until he can feel the familiar rhythm of Sam’s heartbeat under his fingertips.

Dean’s eyes lose focus as he sighs in relief and he moves his hand up to hold the side of Sam’s face. He traces one finger gently over Sam’s sculpted eyebrows, hoping for a response.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, get your hands off my face! When are you going to let me out of here?” Sam bats at Dean’s hand, pushing it away from his general vicinity.

Dean doesn’t even have to ask, he knows this isn’t his Sam, not yet. Hopefully he’s still in there in that crowded brain.  “It’s not up to me, Sammy, it’s all up to your doctors. Soon as your head is better.”

“Sure, Gadreel, whatever, like I’m supposed to believe that after all this time. Go ahead, put me in another Scooby-Doo case to keep me busy. That one with the zombie cheerleaders was pretty funny.”

Dean smiles at Sam’s bravado in confronting who he assumes to be the enemy angel. He never just rolls over and takes it, not his badass little brother. “Sammy, it’s me, Dean. Really it is. You’ve just had a bad head injury, that’s all. Gadreel’s long gone, buddy.”

“I don’t believe you. I can’t believe anybody. You’ve kept me locked up in my own head for so long nothing seems right. It’s hard to tell what’s real anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I never meant for that to happen, Sam. I was just trying to save your life.”

“Gadreel kept telling me you did it out of love. But why would someone who supposedly loved me do this? Take control of my body away from me and lie to me about it for months. All I can see anymore is my hands killing Kevin over and over again.”

“Sammy, please. You have to understand. I didn’t have another choice. You were gonna die.”

“And this was better somehow for you? Having my body walking around with an angel inside of it, just so you could not be alone?”

“No, that wasn’t what I wanted. He was supposed to fix you and then leave. That’s all. I didn’t know he was lying about who he was.”

“Dean, stop. Just stop. I know all that. But did you know that Sam has forgiven you already?”

“He has?” Dean asks, unbelieving and untrusting, even though it’s Sam. There’s been so much broken between them and he’s still convinced what he did was unforgivable, even by Sam.

“Yeah. _I_ sure wouldn’t have, but _he_ did. He figured out he would have done the same or worse if the situation was reversed.”

“But he said….”

“I know, I know, he was really angry when he said that. But he told you that was a lie, remember? Right before you died?”

“Wait, he really meant that? I thought he just said it because I was…you know…dying.”

“God, you’re dense sometimes! Yes, Dean, he meant it. Of course he did.”

“I wish I’d never left him that night on the bridge.”

“Yeah, that one he’s not over. He felt pretty damn abandoned, you know? That was when he needed you most, and you just split.”

“I was a chickenshit, I know it. I just couldn’t take hearing him say what he was gonna say.”

“You thought wrong. He just wanted you to stand by him while he recovered. Do you have any idea what it was like to have Crowley and Gadreel in his head at the same time? What Cas did to him to take the leftover grace out? Or what he was like afterwards? You never even asked him, Dean. He thought you didn’t care.”

“I know I screwed up, okay? Taking on the Mark just to get vengeance and make it all into a kamikaze mission was my bad.”

“Your bad? Oh man, you have no clue, do you? Wait until you to talk the last one of us.”

“The last one of you?” Dean asks, still shaken by what this Sam has just told him. The depth of the pile of shit he’s got to work through is daunting, but he’s going to do it. He has to, as much for Sam, as for _them_.

Sam’s soft voice interrupts Dean’s thoughts. “Yeah, that’d be me, I guess.”

Dean looks at him closely, not immediately recognizing who this last Sam might be. “And you are?”

“Uh, I guess I’m the last one before you maybe get your Sam back.”

“Can we cut to the chase here? Which one are you?”

“The one who survived you being a demon.”

“Why in the hell are you separate?”

“What? You think all that wasn’t bad enough to be worth keeping separate huh?”

“I guess. I don’t know how this works really.”

“Or how bad it really was.”

“Yeah. I try not to remember much. And Sam won’t talk about it.”

“I’m not surprised.  He’s still working on getting over it.”

“Can you at least tell me what he’s trying to get over?”

“What you said to him, when he was curing you with his blood.”

“Was it really that bad?”

“Yeah, it was the worst thing besides you dying that he’s ever experienced.”

“Why?”

“Imagine Sam saying all the things to you that you fear the most that he believes about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh._ Listen, dude, I know you’ve been trying to put yourself back together after the whole oops-I-was-a-demon thing. But your brother…do you have any freaking clue what he did for you? What it was like when your dead body was just gone with that damn note? _‘Let me go Sammy’_ , who even does shit like that?”

“I really don’t remember it all too clearly yet. Not sure I want to.”

“Yeah, you’ve been part way down that demon road before, haven’t you? You ever stop to think about why Sam was so understanding about you being addicted to using the Blade?”

“No, not too much, I was kinda under the influence, the Mark and all that.”

“Under the influence? That ring any bells for you?”

“What, like Sam and the demon blood thing?”

“Yeah, Dean, and what did you do when your dear baby brother got himself addicted to something you didn’t understand? You called him a monster, threw him out and told him not to come back. But he did, didn’t he? He always comes back. I have no idea why,” Sam says, trailing off, like he’s run out of a list of hurtful things that he thinks Dean needs to hear. 

“Me neither. I never think he’s going to. Or that he should.”

“Not really up to you, though, is it?”  Sam asks, with a wan, half-smile that’s still so beautiful Dean feels his heart swelling up with hope, however misplaced it might be.

“Nope, but honestly, sometimes I wish it was,” Dean whispers to a suddenly asleep Sam. He knows any of these versions of Sam would object to that, but it’s true. He’d choose another life for Sam, one where he could be safe and happy. As this thought passes through his mind, even he calls himself out for lying, that’s not what he’d choose. It’s what he’d think he _should_ choose, but if there’s ever a choice (and even when there’s not) it’s always going to be him and Sam, together like it’s supposed to be. 

A shiver passes over him and then Sam at almost the same time, a split-second after Dean’s done with his honest internal conversation. It feels like a million tiny sparks just under the surface of his skin, drawing into his heart and then back out again. The feeling passes in a moment, before he’s able to get too worried, and he sees a small smile form on Sam’s face.  Dean doesn’t know if that was magic or what, but it didn’t feel dangerous, it actually felt good. So did being honest with himself, which seems to be a weird thing to notice.


	3. Thirty-One Flavors

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says with a weak, scratchy voice.

Dean looks up and studies his brother’s face intently for a moment. “Who are you?”

Sam looks surprised, eyebrows shooting up. “It’s me. Sam.”

Dean sits up straighter and grabs onto the bed rail with both hands. “Sammy! Is it just you?”

The look of surprise is gone from Sam’s face, replaced with one that spells irritation. “What the hell, Dean? Yeah, it’s just me, unless you stuck another angel in me again.”

Dean makes a face like Sam’s just slapped him across the cheek. Then he answers quietly, “I’ve just been…well, it’s been a weird coupla hours. You weren’t quite yourself.”

“Who was I?” Sam asks, confused now at his brother’s responses.

“All the other yous that you’ve got in there,” Dean answers, gripping the bed rail until his knuckles turn white.

“Look, I know I’ve just had a head injury, but dude, you’re really not making much sense here.”

“It was freaky. I was just sitting here, waitin’ on you to wake up, and you did finally. But it wasn’t you, first it was like I was talkin’ to the soulless you.”

Sam swallows several times, not looking at Dean. “He’s still around huh?”

“So, uh…you think of him as a separate person?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, kind of…maybe? I don’t know if I ever told you this, but remember when I was out cold, after Cas zapped the Wall? I was running around in my head, and I had to kill the other parts of me. He was a real jerk, thought he should be the one in charge. So I shot him, and then he kind of absorbed into me, and I remembered all the stuff I did when I was soulless.”

“Huh. You shot him. Good. Yeah, he was pretty much 100% grade-A asshole. He uh…told me some stuff.”

“Oh god..like what?” Sam asks with a little wince when he moves to sit up a little higher on the hospital bed.

Dean stands up and helps Sam rearrange himself, and then stays standing, hands resting on the bedrail because he’s not sure Sam wants to be touched. “That you don’t think I listen to you, or treat you as an equal. And that you think I only see takin’ care of you as bein’ my job. Is that true, Sammy?”

Sam looks up at him, face gone a bit pale, his eyes glowing with intensity, that spark that is the real Sam’s. “Yeah, it’s kind of harsh the way he put it, but yeah.”

“I don’t, though. You’re…” Dean trails off, sitting down as his words escape his control. 

“I’m what, Dean?” Sam asks in a soft voice.

Something about that soft, vulnerable voice gets Dean past his usual internal censor. A version of Sam just told him that Sam needs to hear this, and he said he would, so here goes. “I don’t know how to put it. But you mean a hell of a lot more to me than just a job, okay? And I’m sorry about not treating you like an equal. I know we got there, right before you took on Lucifer, and I actually liked it. It felt good, like that was how it was always supposed to be. But Sammy, it’s been a tough coupla years, ya know? Between the soullessness, the hallucinations, the Trials, and Gadreel. You haven’t even been close to running at 100%.”

“Not all of that was my fault, though,” Sam protests, with a weak cough, struggling to sit up again.

Dean leans over to place a hand on Sam’s chest to stop his struggle to sit up. That’s the last thing Sam needs to do right now. “I know, it’s not a blamin’ thing, I swear. I’m just sayin’, you’ve been hangin’ in there pretty damn strong considerin’ what’s been goin’ down. But it’s been one thing after another, and I’ve been just barely holdin’ on for the ride. Now that you’re okay. Well, after the concussion is all healed up, I swear I’ll work on the equal thing again, okay?”

Sam pushes at the hand Dean is still holding on his chest. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is that a ‘yeah, okay’ like you actually believe me, or just to shut me up?” Dean asks, knowing that the answer is important and unsure what it’s going to be.

Sam doesn’t answer or react for several long moments.  “Who else did you talk to?”

“I met the other one too, the Hell memories one. He said you knifed him so you could get out of your mind and come help me. That you said something like you didn’t want to leave me alone out there. That’s fuckin’ amazin’ that you did that.”

“What are you surprised about? That I could do it?” Sam asks, sounding like he’s about to work up to being pissed-off.

“No, of course not. You’re way stronger than I am, you always have been, I know that. I’m just amazed that you’d do that for me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sam asks, confusion apparent all over his face, brow knitted into the usual expressive tangle.

Dean shrugs and thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t know. Staying in your mind, in your good memories, of Jess or somethin’, that coulda been a lot better than what came after, you know?”

“Dean. C’mon, listen to yourself. Why would I ever want that? It would be like a living death. I couldn’t do that to you, leave you with a vegetable for a brother. Maybe that would have been easier for you, though.”

“Oh shut up. That’s not cool jokin’ about somethin’ like that.  But uh…thank you, for doin’ that.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam says, leaving it at that, and not pushing further.  He reaches his hand out towards Dean. It bangs into the bedrail a few times before Dean gets the message to lower it. Then he encloses his brother’s too-warm hand in both of his. 

Dean decides that he needs to continue, he hasn’t gotten it all across to Sam yet. “And he said I don’t trust you, which really bothers me. Because I do. I’ll admit I didn’t for a while there after Ruby and all, but Sammy, I trust you with my life, okay? I really do.  And I trust you with what you decide for your life too.”

“You do?” Sam asks with true surprise, eyebrows traveling further and further towards his hairline in an adorable scrunch.

Dean squeezes Sam’s hand in a kind of pre-answer. “Yeah, I do. I’m not just sayin’ it, either. I really do. And I’ll try to show you that more somehow. Maybe it’s part of the whole treatin’ you like an equal partner thing.”

Sam nods slowly, looking a little bit dazed, gaze going from Dean’s face down to where their hands lie tangled on the blue thermal hospital blanket.

“Hey, you feelin’ okay? You look a little spacey, dude,” Dean asks, seeing how his brother’s attention seems to be scattering.

Sam smiles, eyes gone liquid warm. “Just taking it all in. ’s a lot to process.”

“You wanna hear more?” Dean asks, a little hesitant, because all of this is hard to talk about, and maybe it’s too much at once for Sam in his current state.

“There’s more?” Sam rolls his eyes and smiles, wincing at the movement. “Of course there is. Go ahead, who’s next?”

“Naw, I’m gonna let you get some rest before we talk about anything else. Just go ahead and sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up again. Just don’t be gone so long this time, okay?” Dean says, untangling their hands so he can rub Sam’s shoulder gently.

“‘kay. Thanks for being here, Dean,” Sam says, words fading to nothing as he drifts off to sleep.

Dean thunks his head down onto the bed next to Sam’s hip, so relieved that his brother seems to be coming out of this latest head injury intact. Except for all the company he’s got in his head. _It’s crowded in that big Sam brain of his,_ Dean thinks to himself. _And how the hell did I get this strange chance to talk to all the parts of my brother I never knew existed?_ He sits up and looks at Sam’s face, less relaxed now that he’s back and inhabiting his body again. _And he’s thanking me for being here? After all I’ve heard today, I should be the one thanking him._

That gives him an idea. He stands up, stretching up towards the ceiling, hearing all the vertebra crackle and re-settle. He slowly puts the bed rail back up, trying not to wake Sam, then walks over to his bag, rummaging around for the current journal they’ve been using. He finds a pen and sits down with the rolling tray table readjusted down to his chair level and starts to write. He notes down what each Sam told him, and what his responses were, as close as he can remember. 

At first he’s writing it out, just so he can remember, it really was like a to-do list, and it’s damn important. But then he starts thinking to himself. _There has to be a reason that this even happened beyond it being related to the case they were working. There was a lot that I didn’t know about Sam and now I do. It was a fucking gift from the universe, a gift I can’t just ignore._ That’s when it turns into something for Sam. He thinks, _maybe I’ll give it to him if he doesn’t want to talk about all this stuff when he wakes up._

He writes until his hand cramps, and then he writes some more, ideas about how to make the changes he sees are necessary, a list of priorities for getting this stuff worked out, even a short rambling muse on why he’s thankful for Sam. All of it in his neat I’m-writing-in-the journal handwriting, different than his usual scrawl, like it’s meant to last. Eventually he falls asleep on top of it, too tired from the days of worry, and nights with no sleep, exhausted beyond endurance, he’s out. 

Dean’s so deeply asleep that he doesn’t notice when Sam wakes up and sees his brother passed out in the chair next to the bed. Dean doesn’t even mumble or flinch when Sam gently pulls the journal out from under his curled arm. He doesn’t stir one bit while Sam reads, and his tears begin. He only wakes up when Sam is struggling to find some kleenex on the bedside table. Without any real consciousness yet, he automatically moves the box within Sam’s reach, then begins to wake up, sorting himself out. When he realizes the journal isn’t where he’d left it, he begins to search frantically for it.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Sam says, sniffling into a wad of kleenex.

“Guess you’ve been readin’, huh?” Dean asks after taking in the red nose and watery eyes of a Sam who’s just finished having himself a good cry.

“Yeah, sorry. I probably shouldn’t have,” Sam says, looking a little ashamed at himself for prying.

“No, it’s okay. It’s better this way. Now you know it all,” Dean answers quickly, 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about it, though,” Sam says.

“I know. That’s fine, we’ll talk. I swear we will. But you have to get better first, and get outta this place, okay?”

“Okay, sounds like a plan,” Sam says.  “But, Dean, can I at least tell you why I was crying?”

“Sure, Sammy, of course. Go for it,” Dean says.

“Reading what you wrote…makes it seem so official…like you’re really intending to do all that stuff, make all those changes, just for me. For us. And it was very touching, and maybe it’s the meds I’m on making me sappy. But, I…well, it made me really happy,” Sam says.

“So happy that you were bawling?” Dean asks, trying so hard not to tease when he can see all the tears still on Sam’s face. 

“Yeah, can’t you tell my happy tears from my sad ones by now?” Sam asks.

“Not always, no,” Dean says. “It’s not like you cry all that much, you know?”

“I guess I’m sad, too. I feel like I missed something by not hearing you say all that stuff. I wish I remembered it myself,” Sam says.

“Maybe the different parts of you I was talkin’ to needed to hear it before they’d let you come back together and wake up,” Dean suggests.

“You are so damn smart sometimes, it’s scary,” Sam says.

“Comes from hangin’ out with you, Professor,” Dean answers him with a fond smile, leaning in for a kiss. 

Sam groans with pleasure at the feel of his brother’s lips, but then moans in pain when he moves his head too much. Dean backs off quickly with a worried look that he can’t hide.

“Sorry, guess I’m not up to much yet,” Sam says, sounding sadder than is really necessary.

“It’s okay dude, I’m not goin’ anywhere. I just want you to get better so they let you outta this joint.”

“Tired of cafeteria food already, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a few days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? If you hadn’t distracted that ghost long enough, I’d be where you are, or worse.”

“I know. I’m just…well, I wish we could…you know. Because of all we were just talking about.”

“If you can’t say it, shouldn’t be doin’ it, Sammy,” Dean teases.

“You are such a jerk,” Sam says with all the fondness he feels for his brother, especially now.

“And I’m all yours, you lucky bitch.”

Sam watches his brother puttering around their bedroom, bringing in more pillows, a fresh carafe of water, some fruit on a plate along with a couple of new paperbacks. When he sees Dean lighting about fifteen candles, he can’t contain his curiosity another minute longer. “Why are you doing all this stuff?”

Dean sets down his lighter and faces Sam from across the room. His face looks so beautiful in the candlelight. “What stuff?”

Sam gestures around the room with one hand. “All the…you know…romantic stuff.”

“Oh yeah, that,” Dean says, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand and looking away into one of the dark corners. “I was…uh…reading this thing your doctor sent home with you. And I was just trying some of the suggestions.”

“It suggested breakfast in bed every morning, with flowers on the tray? And candles lit up at night?  I mean, I’m not really complaining or anything, it’s just weird, that’s all,” Sam says with a confused half-smile lingering on his lips.

“The pamphlet was about sex after brain injury, and finding a different way to express all that without, you know…re-injuring you.”

“Was it really that bad?” Sam asks, like he’s all of a sudden considering that possibility.

Dean crosses the room and sits down next to Sam’s hip on the bed. His hands pluck reflexively at the bedspread between them, then he smooths it out, hand coming to rest on Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, Sam, it was. Maybe you don’t remember, which is normal, by the way. But yeah, you’ve got a ways to go before we should even try anything too exciting. I was just trying to show you.”

Sam reaches up to hold the hand that Dean has on his shoulder. He circles his thumb on the thin skin of Dean’s wrist. “Show me what, Dean?”

Dean finally meets Sam’s eyes, and it would knock Sam over if he wasn’t already lying down, seeing all the emotion laid bare on Dean’s face. “All the stuff I never say, ‘cause I suck at it. But I promised you, all the versions of you, that I’d try harder, so this is me trying harder. And if you say another word…”

Sam leans up and kisses Dean, softly at first, then a bit more deeply. “Words are overrated if you ask me,” Sam murmurs into Dean’s ear, kissing and biting it until Dean shivers above him.

Dean pulls away, reluctance written on his face. “They said we need to take it real slow, Sammy.”

“It’s been weeks. I need you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dean says, eyes begging for Sam to hear him.

“You won’t. Just this, like this,” Sam says, big hand slipping into Dean’s sweatpants and wrapping around his quickly hardening cock.

Dean can’t speak for a long moment, just giving into the feeling of his brother’s touch.  
“You’re such a brat sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Sam teases, speeding up his strokes.  Dean’s breath starts coming in short panting bursts that increase when he sees Sam palming himself under the blankets.  He reaches over to lend a hand and smiles when Sam groans with pleasure.

They draw it out longer than hand jobs usually go for them, just because it’s a milestone or whatever. The mess is the same as ever, but the smiles they share and the kisses they give each other feel like welcome-home banners and confetti.

“What’re you making me for breakfast tomorrow?” Dean asks as they’re snuggling down in the bed together after cleaning up.

“This you telling me I’m off of mandatory bed rest?”

“Hey, if you’re up to a handy like that, I figure you can probably get up and make me some pancakes tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll make you the best damn banana-bacon pancakes you ever had, just you wait and…” Sam’s murmurs fade out as he falls asleep before finishing his thought.

Dean gets up to blow the candles out and looks back at their bed, Sam a long hilly landscape under the covers, his hair fanned out on the pillow, his lips still a bit kiss-swollen.  He thinks back to that strange day in the hospital, talking to all of the different Sams that are inside his brother, and murmurs a thank-you to any and all powers-that-be that happen to be listening. A fervent thank-you for giving him back _his_ Sam.

_~FIN~_


End file.
